


Best foot forward

by TheNightsQueen



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Coping, Grief, Healing, Observations, The moments after, after the war, honestly its nicer than you might think, it's life affirming in a way, like drinking a warm cup of tea in a storm
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-16
Updated: 2019-07-16
Packaged: 2020-06-29 16:21:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,749
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19833952
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheNightsQueen/pseuds/TheNightsQueen
Summary: Staring at your feet made getting places a little bit easier in that moment, hour, day, month, even year after the war. There was a lot to notice about your feet when you started staring at them. Harry noticed, for really the first time in his life, how long his strides were. Not abnormally long, or at least it didn’t feel like Harry was trying to throw his leg out as far as he could every time he took a step. But when he was moving with purpose, placing one foot in front of the other, he had rather long strides. Not as long as Ron’s, who’s gangly frame and long legs meant that he always gave off the impression that he was never in a hurry to get anywhere. He had learned to keep pace with his friends by walking marginally slower to make up for the extra distance covered by each pace.Hermione, on the other hand, had to take one and a half steps to make up for each one of Harrys, and two steps to make up for one of Ron’s. This, in contrast to Ron’s apparent relaxation in his walk, made Hermione seem like she was always in a rush, as her legs had to work twice as fast to keep apace with her companions. Harry thought this explained a lot about his friends.





	Best foot forward

One foot. Then the other. One again. And push the other.

Staring at your feet made getting places a little bit easier in that moment, hour, day, month, even year after the war. There was a lot to notice about your feet when you started staring at them. Harry noticed, for really the first time in his life, how long his strides were. Not abnormally long, or at least it didn’t feel like Harry was trying to throw his leg out as far as he could every time he took a step. But when he was moving with purpose, placing one foot in front of the other, he had rather long strides. Not as long as Ron’s, who’s gangly frame and long legs meant that he always gave off the impression that he was never in a hurry to get anywhere. He had learned to keep pace with his friends by walking marginally slower to make up for the extra distance covered by each pace.

Hermione, on the other hand, had to take one and a half steps to make up for each one of Harrys, and two steps to make up for one of Ron’s. This, in contrast to Ron’s apparent relaxation in his walk, made Hermione seem like she was always in a rush, as her legs had to work twice as fast to keep apace with her companions. Harry thought this explained a lot about his friends.

Ginny had longer legs than Hermiones. Still shorter than Harry’s, but not by much. She carried herself with an easy grace that meant she was always walking a little bit faster than perhaps Harry would find comfortable. Or maybe it was the difference in them today, the day after everything, Ginny facing each and every person head on with a fierce stubbornness, and Harry shuffling from place to place, trying to avoid another person’s congratulations or someone else’s questioning.

He didn’t get his cloak out. Not yet. The silky fabric in his pocket letting him know a getaway was there if needed helped set his stomach enough that he would not reach for it yet.

The battle had ended in the early hours of the morning on the second of May, Harry had gotten back to the Gryffindor tower by ten in the morning, and proceeded to sleep for twenty-four hours. This surprised some who knew him. Harry was never one to sit still while anything was happening around him, and he was no stranger to missing out on sleep. It was some comfort that Ron and Hermione too slept for the following day and night, it seemed the trio were first and foremost exhausted, and nobody begrudged them this.

Ginny too had climbed back to her bed on the morning of the second of May, and slept. Not as long as the others, by any means. She woke in her bed, too grief stricken, lost and confused without the twin beacons of Fred and George coaxing everyone to see the bright side of things. They could have made a joke out of this. They could have made a million jokes. Without Fred though, it seemed impossible.

Ginny sat up in her bed, and the temptation to pull the covers up over her head and never come out again was stronger than it had ever been. But Ginny Weasley faced her problems head on, and knowing there was nothing she could do to fix what had happened to Fred, she threw one leg over the side of her bed, then the other, and forced herself step by step into the shower, then down to the common room, where she found her mother by the fire, staring into its dwindling embers and looking lost. Something she had never seen on her mother, and right there and then, Ginny decided who she wanted to be in this mess. It seemed to Ginny that there are two types of people in grief, ones who needed looking after, and ones who needed to do the looking after. And Ginny was determined to do.

She climbed the stony steps to the boys dorm one at a time. Pulling each leg up with more effort than she had used to climb these steps before, she needed to be useful. She had spent the past year building the DA resistance, only to be pulled into hiding with her family. She had spent her time helping Fred and George with their mail order for WWW, and putting together pieces of information for their radio show. Not that they would ever let her on. She had spent so much time trying to help from the sidelines, and she knew now was the time help from the sidelines was needed most. She went into the dorm where Harry had clearly just fell onto his bed and into sleep, and Ron and Hermione had almost done the same, except for they stopped to pull off shoes and jumpers first.

There was a plate of roast beef sandwiches that had been placed on the side, but nobody seemed to have found the time to eat them before succumbing to sleep, and Ginny pulled her hair up into a pony tail and started to work. She pulled off Harry’s shoes first, taking care not to wake him, before throwing spare blankets over all three of them. She found Hermione’s little bag and found the best undetectable extension charm she had ever seen on the inside, though, of course, it was Hermione and she should not have been surprised. She found a set of clean clothes for all of them and set them at the end of the beds, ready for when they woke. She found Harrys invisibility cloak and placed it next to his clothes, knowing he would want it immediately.

One thing at a time. Focusing on exactly what each thing was allowed her just enough concentration to keep her brain occupied. She would grieve when they got home, but she didn’t want to now. These three had been strong all year, and she knew it had peaked last night. Ginny could lend them her strength now. That was Ginny. Strong, steady, and bubbling underneath everything the whole time. She could continue to do so now.

She started on the arduous task of organising Hermione’s bag for her, as everything inside it had gotten quite tossed around in the midst of battle last night, and she knew it would throw Hermione off to keep her things this disorganised. This took her several hours, as she knew it might, and by time she had finished, it was almost twenty-four hours after everything, and the room was starting to stir.

Ginny didn’t ask questions, didn’t pester, she simply ushered them towards the showers as they woke, and busied herself with getting towels and casting warming charms on them. All the little things her mother did to help, and then some. In a perfect moment of clarity, Ginny understood her mothers fussing, the need to look after people, the way looking after others helped to stop yourself from hurting so much.

She would never have her mothers bedside manner, but she understood.

She put the bedsheets, now covered in grime from the collapsed occupants the day before, out to wash and busied herself with that as they came back out to dress. They mumbled thanks, still clearly tired, and without a word spoken between the three, decided that they could face breakfast.

So they walked. One foot in front of the other, the four walked. Hermione with her legs working fast, Ron with his long strides, Harry with his shuffling, and Ginny with her easy grace that today did not come so easy.

There was so much to see from people’s feet, Harry started to learn. The way he had forgotten to tie his laces, mind still unable to focus on much. The way Ron always pulled his shoes on and off without untying and retying his laces, ever the pragmatist. The way Hermione’s bows looked even more neat and precise than usual, her need to be in control written in the even loops. The way the end of Ginny’s laces were frayed as she was always in a rush to hurry after someone, never wanting to be left behind.

They made it to breakfast. Many did not.

They made it through that day. As other did.

They made it through that week. Through the journey back to the Burrow.

They made it all the way to the funerals.

Harry spent a lot of those staring at his shoes still, and continued to surprise himself with how expressive people were with their feet.

He noted how Ginny always tucked her left foot behind her right ankle at these services, willing herself to hold together. At Fred’s funeral she didn’t have her feet composed against the floor, as she spent the whole service in Georges lap as he held her like she was a tiny girl again. At the others, she forced her feet to cross at the ankles, as if that simple act held the rest of her together. Maybe it did.

He noted how Ron was constantly changing how he sat. As if sitting still pained him. He was feeling too much to keep it still, to keep his legs composed. Except for Fred’s. He didn’t move an inch as he rested one hand on Bills shoulder, and held his mothers hand in the other. He was an immovable force that day. Something grounding.

He noted how Hermione’s feet never sat completely on the ground. He had never quite taken note of how short her legs were, but she sat with the balls of her feet resting against the ground, and the heels half an inch off the ground at any given time. How Hermione sat at these services pressed against Ron’s side, not wanting to waste an inch of contact. How at Freds funeral, when she sat one row behind with Harry, her head pressed into his shoulder, but her legs did not touch his.

He noted how he could barely keep his own feet still. He was constantly jigging one leg, as if he too was feeling too much to quieten the movement. He thought it was because he was always better at doing than feeling, but now, it was over. There was nothing to do but feel. His legs only stopped when he stepped up to speak.

Harry hated public speaking. But there wasn’t anyone left to speak for Lupin, so he would. He didn’t even consider not speaking at Colin’s funeral. The young lad had wanted nothing but Harry’s attention, Harry would not begrudge him that now. He owed Tonks a word, owed her son the world, so he spoke there too. He was not going to speak at Fred’s, but George stood to speak, and found that the words he had prepared to say would not come out, and the rest of the Weasleys couldn’t find words either, how could you begin to talk about Fred Weasley? So Harry had stood, walked up to George, and told him “Mischief Managed.”

He spent the funerals looking and learning from people’s feet, because he was too scared to look into people’s eyes. Too scared of what he would find there.

But there was truth to putting one foot in front of the other. They could all manage that, eventually.

They finished the funerals, the services, the goodbyes, and the celebrations.

When you place one foot in front of the other, everything else starts pulling itself into place. Slowly, its true, but it does. Because one foot in front of the other takes you places, takes you to where you need to be. Keeps life moving. Keeps you going. Keeps everything in motion.

It took Harry to visit Teddy. Exactly one week after the battle, Harry would not repeat Sirius’ mistake. Harry would not take twelve years to see his Godson. One week had been enough.

It took Harry to Andromeda Tonks’ kitchen. He sat with Teddy in his lap, and found that the infant did not seem to mind the jigging of Harrys leg, that he had not yet managed to stop. In fact it calmed him considerably, and sitting there bouncing baby Teddy in his lap, Harry felt useful. Finally understood how Ginny had been pulling herself together each day since everything had happened.

One foot in front of the other took Harry to Andromedas kitchen at least once a week, but often he stopped by every other day. It took Teddy a few months to start getting the hang of one foot in front of the other, but it delighted everyone when he did. Teddy was growing. He was growing into the world that everyone around him had fought so hard for.

One foot in front of the other took Harry and Hermione across the Weasley house each night, blushes spread across their cheeks. It kept them doing it each night, without ever really talking about it. Until George forced himself out of bed for the first time in a week for a glass of water, one foot in front of the other had brought George Weasley to his first joke since, and many jokes after.

One foot in front of the other took Harry to his first little flat. A small place in muggle London, all paid and brought for the muggle way so any reporter, or avid fan, or rogue Death Eater (who might still be a bit miffed at Harry) would not be able to find him. One foot in front of the other brought Ginny with him.

There was a point where Harry felt safe to stop looking at his shoes. When he started to look everyone in the eyes again. He didn’t know when that became his norm again. Maybe when he started pulling funny faces at baby Teddy. Or maybe when he had snuck into Ginny’s room for the first time, and the two of them led facing each other, nose to nose in her little single bed, and laughed as Harry spent half the night nearly falling out of it. Maybe when Mrs Weasley asked if he had enough breakfast on his plate and Harry had smiled a yes at her. Maybe it was when Hermione told him she was going to find her parents again, and no he didn’t need to worry himself with coming with, Ron was going and they would only be a week at most. Maybe it was when Ron, red faced, had asked where Harry went when Hermione came into his room each night, and quickly decided that actually he didn’t want to know. Maybe it had been when George made that first joke after. Maybe, he never really stopped looking people in the eye, he had just taken more notice of staring at his feet.

Maybe it didn’t matter.

Maybe it was just nice that he didn’t spend his days staring down at his shoes anymore.

Harry Potter thought that a lot could be learned by looking at someone’s feet. He could tell if James had snuck out on his broom at night by the mud on his shoes in the morning. He could tell if Albus was feeling particularly nervous about something that day by whether he had double knotted his shoelaces or not. He could tell if Luna had been round that day by the fact that Lily would not be wearing shoes, and would instead have dirt all over her feet.

He could tell if his wife was home because her shoes would be by the door.

He could tell if Teddy was round by the noise his combat boots (which he had stolen from his mothers cupboard) made against the floor.

He could tell if Hermione had stopped by from work because the clip of her sensible heels sounded on the floorboards, or if Ron had, because he always forgot to wipe his feet.

Harry could see when Andromeda swapped from lace up shoes to special orthopaedic ones when she couldn’t reach to tie them, and he could see what that was starting to mean in regards to Teddy.

There was a lot to be learned by looking at someone’s feet. A lot one could notice.

But Harry thought there was so much more to be learned by putting one foot in front of the other and finding out for yourself.


End file.
